Geoffrey Hill - Mercian Hymns: X lyrics

He adored the desk, its brown-oak inlaid with ebony, a**orted prize pens, the seals of gold and base metal into which he had sunk his name. It was there that he drew upon grievances from the people; attended to signatures and retributions; forgave the d**h-howls of his rival. And there he exchanged gifts with the Muse of History. What should a man make of remorse, that it might profit his soul? Tell me. Tell everything to Mother, darling, and God bless. He swayed in sunlight, in mild dreams. He tested the little pears. He smeared catmint on his palm for his cat Smut to lick. He wept, attempting to master ancilla and servus.